


Stone Cold Saint

by popfly



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gapfillerpalooza, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-23
Updated: 2005-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly/pseuds/popfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gapfiller for season two, episode nine. Brian makes a choice, but it's not based on religion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stone Cold Saint

Brian had always hated church. And not just the idea of it, the preaching and the sermons and the gospel readings. He hated the building itself.

The air was always heavy and thick with incense, the kind that hung in cloying clouds and made the insides of his nostrils burn. The ceilings were too high, the decorations too ornate. The pews were over-polished, making his ass slide on the seat. He could never get comfortable and it didn't matter if he slouched or sat up straight, his spine always ached when the service was over. Not to mention the cheap centimeter-thick foam on the kneeling pads that always made him feel like his bones were crunching directly together. And he didn't exactly enjoy the way the stained glass saints seemed to be looking down upon him, watching him with cold condescension as he made his way down the carpeted center aisle.

Brian avoided church as much as he could. And now he was walking down the center aisle for the third time in as many days.

The bell bonged overhead, playing a tune he recognized from a childhood full of church Sundays, and the noise echoed strongly in the cavernous chapel. Brian patted the end of each pew as he passed it, his eyes trained on the bent gray head in the front pew.

He had stopped by the house to find it empty. He stood in the silent kitchen and debated just going home. Claire could have taken her to the grocery store, or the doctor, or anywhere. But after her visit to his loft the day before, and her parting shots about his afterlife destination, he had a sneaking suspicion she would only be one place.

He had come with every intention to out his mother's beloved Reverend Butterfield. He wanted to cut her, he wanted her to choke on her words of damnation. 

In the end the decision not to tell her had nothing to do with her, or with the good reverend.

She had compared Brian to his father. She had called him selfish.

Brian could deal with the prospect of an eternity in hell. At least he knew that if there was such a thing, it was populated with the people he'd want to spend an eternity with. He could not, would not deal with being compared to his father.

So he bit back the words he'd been planning on saying. His need for vengeance had been squelched.

Not telling her wasn't for her benefit. He couldn't care less if she lost all faith in the good reverend, or God himself. 

Not telling her was for Brian's own benefit. It was proof that he wasn't like his father, because his father took every opportunity to hurt the people around him.

Brian walked out of the church into the cooling afternoon, squinting against the brightness of the setting sun. He lit a cigarette as he went down the steps and towards his Jeep. And he was surprised at how good he felt.


End file.
